Curiosity brought Noble sniffing, and Mikoto scooped up his puppy.
Timur returned, this time with a squat thermos. “Get this down. It’s a restorative. It’ll clear your head.”
Sinder made no move to take it.
So Timur unscrewed the lid himself, releasing a burst of fragrant steam. Citrus and spice. Mikoto caught another, richer scent and knew that Timur had added a generous splash of liquor. By the look of things, enough eggs had been added to make it more custard than liquid.
“Do you have a spoon?” asked Mikoto.
Kyrie immediately volunteered, “I can feed him.”
Sinder grumbled, “Give a guy a chance. He pollinated me, you know.”
“This will clear your head,” Timur patiently repeated. And to Mikoto, “Make sure he takes every drop.”
With a longsuffering sigh, Sinder took the thermos and took a long swallow. Then another. “Bauble my halls, Timur. You’re better at this stuff than my own mother.”
Timur simply tugged at Sinder’s eyelids, checking his pupils, and ordered, “Every drop.”
“Heard you the first time.” But Sinder was smiling now. The restorative must have been especially potent. Mikoto had to wonder if Merl would want the recipe.
Not until the dose was more than half-downed did Sinder speak again, this time to Kyrie. “Did you save up any questions for me?”
“Yes.” The boy came to sit before Sinder and Mikoto, creating a triangle that didn’t exclude anyone. “Will I have a tail when I get older?”
Sinder took another mouthful while pondering his answer. “Horns and antlers and every kind of spike and ridge can come in as a dragon ages. But tails are different. If you were meant to have a tail, I think you would have been born with one.”
Kyrie bounced right to his next question. Although it was more of a remark. “Lapis has wings.”
“And …?”
“You do not.”
“Yet.” Sinder kept his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his dose. “I aspire to wings.”
“How old do you have to be?” asked Kyrie.
“While horns and the like come with age, wings are a matter of power. Given your markings, I think you can hold out some hope. Especially since you live in close proximity to so many potent souls.” Sinder asked, “Haven’t you ever undergone some kind of assessment?”
“There is no need. I am in good health.” Kyrie glanced at Ginkgo before adding, “Dad does not approve of the kinds of tests people propose. Reavers are curious about crossers, but not for the right reasons.”
Sinder made a derisive sound. “There’s a big difference between learning more about your inheritances and being turned into a test subject.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Kyrie explained, “Many crossers are fostered at Stately House.”
“I know. I’ve been there.” Sinder smiled around another slow sip.
“But …!” The boy plucked at his sleeve. “When?”
“You were still a baby. I only held you once.” With a small shrug, he admitted, “I was all awkward, and your father was so looming. You liked my partner better.”
Kyrie turned to ask Ginkgo, “You knew Sinder?”
“Nope. Not to speak to.” The half-fox said, “Dad has his share of secrets. Usually, he’s protecting somebody, so I try not to meddle. Much.”
Mikoto would have liked to ask a few questions of his own, but this was Kyrie’s moment. So he held his peace and held his puppy. Noble was happy enough to have so much of his attention.
“Are we related?” asked Kyrie. “Even a little?”
“Not closely, but that doesn’t really matter. By the custom of our clans, we are dragons of the heights, and that makes us brothers.”
“Lapis has a home on a mountain.” Kyrie softly added, “I thought it was because he liked stars.”
Sinder’s brows arched. “Perhaps he does.”
“I … do not think that is the reason.”
“Males like Lapis and me are not granted mates. Or more accurately, we are not permitted to attract a dragoness, since the generations before ours have gathered harems for themselves.” Sinder drank deeply and sighed. “One in five become fathers. They are the strongest and best, so their sons and daughters are also strong.”
“You cannot have a family?”
Sinder shook his head. “My family is made up of a small brotherhood of celibate dragons.” His voice took on a lilting quality. “The Fathers are strong, but the brothers are not weak. We are learners or healers or crafters or questers. We keep all our clans’ stories and sing all our clans’ songs.”
“Lapis says he is a scholar.”
“He is.”
“Which are you?” Kyrie asked.
“Well, I’m not exactly a dragon of the heights anymore. That’s where I’m from, but I have things to do.” Sinder’s claws tapped lightly against the side of the thermos. “This summer, I’m playing dangerous games with battlers.”
“You were. You’re done.” Timur traded Sinder’s empty thermos for a portion of fish.
“No. I have a job to do, and I’ll finish my job.”
Timur’s tone held menace. “I won’t let them turn you into a test subject.”
“You can’t stop me. You shouldn’t try. This is way over your head.” Sinder’s gaze was unwavering. “If you want to help me, keep me on my feet. I don’t want to delay the battalion’s training.”
Mikoto’s interest levels spiked. “You are training battlers?”
Ginkgo snorted. “Timur, take pity and recruit the boy. He doesn’t like being left out.”
Timur’s fury bled away. “Not my decision to make. None of them are, yes?”
“Yes.” Sinder firmly redirected the conversation. “Kyrie, did you have another question for me? I see one shining in your eyes. It must be the last. For now. Because while I promised you answers, I promised Mikoto a story, and such things take time to tell.”
“Is it a story of dragons?” asked Kyrie.
“A story straight out of the heights,” Sinder promised.
The boy admitted, “I do have a question.”
Sinder simply beckoned for it.
“Do we have any Kith?”
“Have you ever asked Lapis?” Sinder’s expression turned inscrutable.
“I have,” admitted the boy.
“What did he say?”
Kyrie mumbled, “That it is a great secret.”
“I can say with considerable authority that he understated the matter.” Leaning toward the boy, Sinder gravely said, “It is a very great secret.”
THIRTY-TWO
Beckonthrall and Bethiel
“In long ago days, when dragons were enemies of all the world, including one another, one brave soul departed from the valleys of war, climbing into the austere heights of a lonesome mountain. The place he settled wasn’t good for hatching eggs or succoring young, but Persiflage Beckonthrall—for that was the brave soul’s name—felt as if he’d become part of the sky. The nights were clear, and the stars were close. The winds came and went in a rush, and the stone at his feet sang with remnant songs.”